Black Sheep
by PurtyBirdy
Summary: Three years ago a killer was stopped with the help of Alice Brandon, and her gift of psychometry. But now it appears there is a copy-cat killer, targeting those who put the original murderer behind bars. Can FBI agent Jasper Whitlock stop this new killer before he destroys everyone associated with the case, Alice included?
1. Prolouge

_No infringement intended. This is fanfiction. Characters' appearances and names do not belong to me, however lackluster personalities, awkward dialogue, and enormous plot-holes are all mine._

* * *

**~Prologue~**

* * *

At four in the morning my cell phone vibrated on the nightstand next to my bed. I jolted up into a sitting position, and answered, "Whitlock."

On the other end of the line was a voice I hadn't heard in nearly forever, but recognized instantly. "Jasper, my boy, did I wake you?"

I had maybe two hours of sleep that night, one hour more than most nights. I cleared my throat, "Nah, Charlie. I was up. What can I do for you?"

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and roughly ran a hand through my hair. I hadn't heard from Charles Swan - Chief Swan - in nearly a decade, not since joining the academy. He sent a congratulatory card when I became an FBI agent seven years later. Charlie was a man of few words, if he was calling me before the ass-crack of dawn after all this time, I knew he needed my help and I'd give it to him happily. I owed him.

"Well, son, I could use your services back home. See, I've come across... across a problem."

"Is it a case?" I was already slipping on a pair of dress slacks, and searching for my laptop. I could probably book the next flight out of Dulles online and be in Seattle by the afternoon.

"You could say, yes. Not quite sure yet."

His uncertainty caught me off guard. "Not sure?"

"Its," - he sighed heavily - "Its complicated. Do you remember a case in Washington a few years back, '_The Heart Surgeon_'?"

I paused midway buttoning up my shirt. It was three years back. There were five murders, all the victims discovered with their hearts missing. The papers had dubbed the killer _The Heart Surgeon_, real creative. I had followed the case, knowing Charlie was heading the search for the murderer. He even took a lot of flack after he recruited some _psychic_. The locals thought the Chief had finally fallen off his rocker, I have to admit I worried the same thing, but less than a week later the killer had been taken into custody: some prestigious doctor out of a small community called Forks.

"Carlisle Cullen, right?"

"That'd be him. Well, a couple of my boys picked up two bodies this week. Same M.O., hearts gone, similar, if not exact technique. The weapon was left at the scene, a scalpel from Dr. Cullen's personal collection. Has his Goddamned initials carved into it."

"A copy-cat?" I was sliding on my loafers, eyeing the apartment for my car keys.

"Must be. The doctor is still snug as a bug at State Penn."

It seemed pretty clear cut to me. Charlie wasn't an idiot, if he could find the real deal, I was certain he could find the cheap knock off. So it lead me to wonder what he needed me for.

"What's the catch here?"

He was silent for a moment. "The ah, bodies we picked up. They belonged to Judge Cope and the D.A. who oversaw the Surgeon's trial."

I stopped for a moment to register this new bit of information. The copy-cat was picking off those associated with the case. Charlie was the one that put the psycho behind bars. Charlie was on the list. Charlie was in danger.

"Charlie I am on my way. Its going to be fine."

He made a noncommittal grunt. I could practically hear his mustache twitch. "I'll see you when you get here, son." He paused again, "It was real nice hearing from you again."

I didn't get to respond before he hung up. If I had known that was the last time I would speak with him, I may have made more of an effort.

* * *

_Thank you for reading._


	2. Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men

_No infringement intended. This is fanfiction. Characters' appearances and names do not belong to me, however lackluster personalities, awkward dialogue, and enormous plot-holes are all mine._

* * *

~One~

* * *

They say 'you can never go home again'. This is especially true when you never had a home to begin with.

I was a foster kid until I was old enough to emancipate myself. I graduated from high school when I was sixteen, joined the police academy when I was eighteen. I had a great career as a metro cop, then quickly got promoted through the ranks; beat, homicide, and later had my induction into the FBI.

But before all that, I was just some punk kid with a chip on his shoulder. I landed in the Chief's cell a few times. Petty stuff, like shoplifting, and drunken disorderly - I was big on picking fights. But somehow Charlie got through my thick skull and set me on the right path. A path that I am proud of. That was until I arrived at Charlie's house in Port Angeles, Washington that evening.

I had never been here before, but had no problem finding it. EMS and the local cops were already on the scene. I stepped under the police tape that surrounded the perimeter and slowly walked across the damp lawn. A strobe of red and blue lights illuminated paramedics and a team of forensics as they scrambled across the yard in front of me.

I felt as if I was moving in slow motion, the kind that three layovers, a delayed flight, and arriving an hour too late to protect a dear friend would cause. I was reeling at this point.

I allowed myself a moment before I entered the home. The door was already open. The bevy of activity that was in the front yard was now in the Chief's small house; flash photography, chatter from the local PD, and in the far corner I noticed a pretty brunette crying.

Bella, Charlie's daughter.

I was worried I was going to have to give myself another moment to compose myself when a Deputy called for my attention. He was on the shorter side, with a round center. "You must be Special Agent Whitlock." He extended his hand, I took it. "Billy Black."

"Deputy Black." I nodded my head, my eyes darting back to Bella. There was an female officer standing next to her, placing a blanket over her shoulders, and saying something I couldn't make out over the noise in the room.

Black shifted his bulky weight next to me, "The Chief's daughter discovered his body. She comes over most nights to cook him dinner. Its horrible what she walked in on." The Deputy then motioned for me to follow him. We stepped through a small hallway that opened into a bright yellow kitchen.

Seeing Charlie sprawled over the kitchen table was possibly one of the most horrible experiences of my life, but something in me forced me to go into work mode. I could mourn my poor friend's death later. Right now, I was going to find the sonofabitch who did this.

His chest was open, and while there was plenty of blood, I could tell the cut was clean - almost surgical. I didn't have to examine closer to know his heart would be missing. His hands were at his side, no sign of struggle, no obvious aberrations or skin under his names. Charlie's eyes were open, staring blindly at the ceiling, almost serenely.

On the kitchen counter was an open bottle of _Blue Ribbon_, next to it a glass of water. I walked around the kitchen. The small size typical for a house this old. There was a door that lead to the back yard, next to that a coat rack that held Charlie's holster. His gun was still inside.

After allowing me a few minutes to assess the crime scene Deputy Black began to speak. "No forced entry. We dusted for prints, but so far we are only coming up with the Chief's and his family's. Forensics thinks he may have been... conscience during the whole thing, but he wasn't restrained."

I leaned closer to Charlie's face, sniffed for hints of chloroform, but only the subtle scent of beer played off his lips. I looked up to Black, "May I?"

The Deputy nodded, "The lab has all they need. We're actually ready to move him, I just thought it best to wait for you."

I gave the man a closed mouth smile and then positioned myself behind the table, just above Charlie's head. If my suspicions were correct, he would have a puncture wound, but other than the obvious mutilation of his chest cavity I couldn't locate one. And then a thought struck me.

I ran my fingers through Charlie's hair, running the course of his scalp until I found it. No bigger than a pinprick, because after all a syringe had make the incision.

"Here," I told Black. "The perp injected him within the hairline, towards the nape of his neck. Probably a neuromuscular-blocking narcotic. It would have paralyzed him within a few seconds."

The Deputy pulled out a notepad and began to scribble in it. I continued talking, "Whoever did this, the Chief knew. He willingly let him into the house; might have even had a beer with him." I nodded to the bottle of _Blue Ribbon_, and then sighed. "The killer probably took the bottle with them though."

We stood there for a moment, I stared at the glass of water on the counter trying to imagine who Charlie could have known and trusted enough to allow in his home knowing he was in danger.

After a moment I turned to Black. "I'd like to speak with Bella."

Actually I didn't. I wasn't sure how I was going to speak to her knowing I failed to protect her father.

The Deputy waved his chubby finger at me in a motion to follow. I did. Back down the hallway, past pictures of deer and mounted fishing trophies. Black walked up to the female officer still consoling the Chief's daughter. "Leah, FBI wants to speak with Bella. Lets take them to one of the back rooms."

Bella looked up to me then, realizing for the first time who I was. "Jasper?"

"Hey there Bells." I tried to smile. Despite her red rimmed eyes and the quiver of her plump bottom lip she was still as beautiful as I remembered. Maybe even more so.

She threw her arms around me, letting the blanket fall off of her shivering frame. It was only then, when I returned the hug, I noticed her protruding belly. My hands were drawn to it.

She looked down almost bashfully, "We're due in eight weeks."

"We're?"

My question was cut off by shouts coming from the front door, "Bella! - Let me in. I need to see my wife. Bella!"

A man in his early thirties pushed his way into the house making a beeline for Bella. I stepped back just in time for him to engulf her in a possessive hug. He berated her with a slew of questions, "Are you okay? Are you hurt? I came as soon as I heard. Why are you still here?"

Bella began to tear up again.

Leah spoke first, her lush Native American lips forming a sneer. It was clear to see she didn't particularly care for the theatrics of this guy. "She's fine Mr. Mason, but as you can see this is a crime scene and you really shouldn't be here -"

He held Bella closer to him, placing his hand on her pregnant belly. "I am here for my wife. And my wife shouldn't be subjected to this in her condition."

"You're certainly right Mr. Mason," I said, "However there was a crime committed here and I'd like to speak with Bella - with your wife - for just a moment."

"Look, officer -"

"Special Agent." I corrected.

"Fine, _Special Agen_t, it must be obvious that Bella is in no condition to be interrogated. I am sure you can speak with her at another time."

I could, but interviewing witnesses was always best while the details were still fresh in their mind. I looked to Bella, tears were streaming down her flushed cheeks, as she rested her head on her husband's chest. I conceded. "Alright Bells, may I speak with you tomorrow?"

She nodded and offered me a pained smile. "Jasper." Bella reached out and touched my hand, "Find the person who did this. Find them and put them away."

"You have my word, darlin'"

Leah returned the blanket to Bella shoulders and escorted the couple out of the house.

"I reckon we ought to get you to a motel for the night." Black said.

Sleep was the least of my concerns, but I did need to check in somewhere and get situated. We walked quietly to his squad car, making our way through a crowd of bystanders skirting the caution tape outside.

It had started to rain as we drove to the motel, something I didn't miss about living in North West. I'd have to go to the morgue in the morning and determine if the other victims had similar injections. It would be a while before a toxicology report would be available, but in the meantime I had plenty of logs to skim through regarding the other killings. There was bound to be a pattern. The killer was making his way through the people who put the Original Heart Surgeon in prison. First the Judge, then the lawyer, Newton was murdered. Now Charlie...

"Who was the psychic that assisted on the original case?"

Black snorted, "Weren't a _psychic_, just a con artist if you ask me."

"Take it you aren't a fan of the paranormal."

We pulled into the small motel parking lot, the rain coming down full force. The Deputy put the car in park and turned to me. "Chief almost lost his career over the whole _psychic bullshit_. I don't know what mumbo-jumbo she pulled on him, but he had complete faith in the wackjob. Some say she was what helped crack the case."

"But you don't say that?"

He shook his head, his meaty cheeks shaking like a bulldog. "I say the case would have been cracked with good ol' fashion police work."

"I agree."

"Her name is Brandon. Alice Brandon."

I made a point to memorize the name. "Is she a local? Where can I find her?"

"Last I heard - and mind you, I'm not keeping tabs - she hightailed it to Seattle."

"Hightailed it?"

"She used to own a jewelry shop up on Main Street before she stuck her nose in the case. After word got out that she was claiming to have these _abilities_, she closed up shop and left Port Angeles."

"I'll need her address; preferably by morning." I opened the passenger door, the sound of the rain filling the car.

"I hope you aren't planning to bring her on the case, Special Agent."

"Not at all." I assured him, "But the ways things are looking, we'll need to place her under custody."

Black leaned forward to speak as I stepped out of the squad car. "Why is that?"

"Isn't it obvious? She's the next target."

* * *

_Sup?_


	3. Leon by Alt-J

_No infringement intended. This is fanfiction. Characters' appearances and names do not belong to me, however lackluster personalities, awkward dialogue, and enormous plot-holes are all mine._

* * *

~Two~

* * *

I was walking down a dock in Seattle's marina. It was nearly ten in the morning, but the harbor was still quiet. I guess not many millionaires bothered to play on their yachts before lunch.

I had spent my morning at the morgue. The bodies there had confirmed what I thought; they were injected in the scalp with something to prevent the victims from moving. I could only assume the injection were done in such a covert manner to keep the police from noticing.

After that, Deputy Black - reluctantly - gave me the last known address for one Miss Alice Brandon. I spent some time last night going over her file. Age: 21. Formally, Mary Alice McCarty (there was no marriage license so I assumed the name change steamed from other reasons). Native of Mississippi. Mother and father deceased. An older brother, Emmett McCarty, that from what I could tell, worked on a shrimping operation out of Biloxi and spent most of his time deployed.

Alice had no criminal record to speak of, her juvenile record was expunged, but I doubted I would find much there. She moved to Port Angeles and opened a small jewelry boutique right before the killings started. It closed not long after the conviction of Carlisle Cullen. IRS logs showed it was mildly successful while it was in business. From what I gathered from newspaper articles surrounding the arrest and trial of The Heart Surgeon, Brandon became a local celebrity. There was even talk of a TV series based off the help she offered the police. But after that, _nada_. It was like she became a recluse, which lead me to the docks today.

I slowed my pace as I approached a small boat with the name "_Matilda_" scrawled across the stern. This was it. I didn't see anyone and wasn't sure what protocol was regarding climbing onto a vessel. She didn't have a listed phone number, not that I would have called to announce my arrival even if she did. Was it rude to just welcome myself aboard? I decided it was, but stepped down onto the boat anyway.

The craft was small in comparison to the other ships docked next to it. I had to hunch slightly under the cabin's ceiling as I walked over to a sliding glass door that separated the boat's salon from the deck. It was locked. I knocked and waited a moment before I cupped my hands around my face to try and get a glimpse through the tinted glass.

"Is there something I can help you find?" Her voice startled me. I jerked from my bent position and smacked the top of my head on the ceiling.

She was a petite thing, no more than five feet on her tiptoes and I doubted she hit the 90 pounds mark on a scale. Her short, dark hair was windblown, her skin slightly golden from the sun. She wore a stained, oversized t-shirt and a pair of criminally small shorts. When I spun around to see her, I noticed she was removing earbuds from her ears. That coupled with her tennis shoes let me know she must have been out on a run. She also didn't seem impressed to find me on her boat. Can't say that I blamed her.

"Alice Brandon?" I extended my hand to her. She stared at it.

After a moment she climbed onto the deck with me and proceeded to pull off the sweaty shirt. It revealed a black bikini top and more sun-kissed skin. "You're trespassing." She said casually enough.

I lowered my hand and put on my best smile. "Sorry. Not too familiar with maritime laws."

"Yeah?" she grabbed a towel from the deck bench, and began to pad down the perspiration on her neck. "What about manners? Are you familiar with those?"

I hiked my thumb to the glass door that probably still had my smudge marks on it, "Thought you might be inside. I need to speak with you."

She ignored me as she tugged off her sneakers. I was starting to feel overdressed in my suit and tie.

"I realize this is awkward," I continued, "but its important that I talk to you."

"Look Mister, I understand you may have read about me, but before you start your story, I can't help you. I'm sorry."

"Is that right?" My smile didn't falter as I watched her open the sliding door and walk into the salon.

"That's right." She said from somewhere inside the darken boat. "I can't contact your loved one. I don't know where the treasure was buried. If I knew the winning lotto numbers, I doubt I would share them."

She came back into view sipping on a water bottle. "And I can't tell you who you're going to marry."

"Not much of a psychic, are you?" I couldn't help but tease.

Alice screwed the cap on her water bottle slowly, eyeing me. "Never said I was,"

"What about your work in Port Angeles?"

She snorted, but didn't answer the question. "So you're not here for a reading or a seance. You're not a reporter -"

"How do you know I'm not a reporter?"

"Your suit. Its too cheap for a reporter. That leaves one option: you're a cop."

"Close, FBI."

"Still can't help you."

"Awe, come on darlin', you don't even know why I'm here yet."

She walked around me, bent down and flipped open a bilge hatch. There were some tools around the opening. That coupled with the dirty t-shirt made me think her craft wasn't exactly operational - she must have been working on the pump before her run. Most likely the only reason she didn't kick me off the damn thing and sail off into the Sound.

"Agent, I really don't have time for this." She began to climb into the crawl space of the hatch, pulling on a pair of work gloves.

Fair enough, I thought. I really should be getting to the point. I opened the manilla folder I carried and pulled out a picture. I handed it to her, and she took it without thinking.

I watched the delicate features of her face contort as she looked at an autopsy photo of Charlie. While it was just a shot of his face, it was still a ruthless tactic. I could tell she was a firecracker and I needed her to cooperate.

She ran a gloved fingertip down the black and white image, tracing along Charlie's jawline. "When?" Her voice cracked on the single word, her true youth and innocence showing through for the first time since I started talking to her.

This time I let my smile fade. I began to feel like a real asshole, I hadn't taken into account that she may have been close to the Chief. "Last night."

She sniffled and didn't look up at me as she handed back the picture.

"Sorry." I felt obliged to say. It was the truth and nothing but. "Take it you don't follow the news much out here."

She wiped under her eye and shook her head. "Nothing good ever comes from it. Ya' know?"

I nodded. "Then I guess you haven't heard about Judge Cope or Michael Newton."

Alice looked up to me then, her eyes round and brimming with unshed tears.

I had to go on, "Miss Brandon, we have reason to believe your life is in danger and I think -"

"But Doctor Cullen was given five consecutive life sentences. There is no way he could have gotten parole this early -"

I raised my hands, trying to quiet her. "It's not Cullen. But there is someone out there that is trying to even the score for him. And I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you are most likely the next one on that list."

She was silent. Her large brown eyes staring at Pacific skyline. I gave her time to take it in. I felt sympathy for the poor kid. Whatever her role was in putting The Heart Surgeon away, she must have had some good intentions and from what I understood it had uprooted her life once already. Never think a good deed ever goes unpunished.

"So what now?" She asked.

"Now, well, I place you protective custody until the killer is located. Right now, I need you to gather some of your belongings and come with me. I have a motel room reserved for you in Port Angeles. You will have an officer with you at all times and -"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

She offered me her hand, still cloaked in the soft, suede glove. I pulled her out of the hatch.

"Yes, okay. But I am not going to be some idiot being babysat by even stupider idiots waiting to get picked off. I'm going to help you find the killer."

* * *

_Matilda and Leon, songs from Alt-J that were inspired by the movie Léon: The Professional._


	4. It's Alright by Matt & Kim

_No infringement intended. This is fanfiction. Characters' appearances and names do not belong to me, however lackluster personalities, awkward dialogue, and enormous plot-holes are all mine_

* * *

~Three~

* * *

Driving from Seattle to Port Angeles was a surprisingly tranquil immersion down memory lane. Passing the curve of highway that I would slingshot on - sans headlights - in the middle of the night. The gravel turnoff lined with barbed-wire warding off trespassers; Charlie picked me up on the wrong side of that fence twice. That brown sign with white letters announcing the rest stop where I had kissed Bella Swan for the first time. How many hours had I traveled down this tree-lined road with just my thoughts? Imaging how I was going to leave and make something of myself.

Coming back had been in the fantasy too, just never like this.

My bizarre, yet willing co-pilot, Brandon, was quiet enough during the commute, and that may have added to the nostalgia as we sped down the coastal interstate. Her presence was eerily calming.

I wasn't exactly keen on her proposal about helping with the case. I could see how she may have gotten Charlie wrapped around her impossibly small pinky, but that wasn't going to work on me. She was under my protection, and nothing more. Still, we were going to be spending time together, I figured it was best to be on good terms. Criminal trespassing probably wasn't the best way to start things off.

I looked over to Alice. She was staring out the passenger side window. Her dainty, bare feet were resting on the dashboard, her - what I _assumed_ to be soft - tanned legs jetted up, knees near her chest.

"You like boating?" Admittedly not the best way to start a conversation. "Guess you're used to it, having come from a Biloxi. They have a lot there... Lots of boats."

She didn't respond.

"Sailing is pretty popular up here too. Guess you know that. Big fishing community."

Silence.

"I read you owned a jewelry shop."

Still nothing.

"I just think it's kind of unique... Someone so young... Owning a business." Jesus Christ! Jasper Whitlock never stumbles over words, especially around women. Why was I having trouble making a coherent sentence?

She gave me a sidelong glance. "You seem young for a FED."

I smiled at this. "Nah, I'm an old man. Just managed to age gracefully,"

She may have giggled, but she had turned back to the window before I could make sure.

I kept talking. "You just a big fan of jewelry? Was it your lifelong dream to own a shop or -"

"My father was a jeweler. He taught me a few things, like silversmithing."

"So, the psychic thing was just like, what, a hobby?" I regretted the comment before it even finished coming out of my mouth. I regretted it more when, in my periphery, I saw her head snap to look at me.

"I already told you, I'm not a psychic."

"Right." I drummed the steering wheel with my fingers for a moment, then, "But there was all this talk about you being one. I thought that was why Charlie brought you onto the case."

"You thought wrong."

"Ah." I was ready to leave it at that for now. We had another hour until we reached town, could we go back to our comfortable silence? Then she mumbled something. "What was that?"

She sighed, "It's called psychometry."

I glanced at her again, she was looking back earnestly. It occurred to me then that Alice Brandon didn't open up to many people, and that I should feel privileged at that moment. However, "No idea what that is." I finally admitted.

"It's like," she paused a moment, search for the right words. "Okay, I can sometimes get impressions off of objects after people touch them. They aren't exactly memories, more like feelings, or images. If someone is concentrating on something especially powerful or passionate they can imprint this onto an item."

"You can see these... feelings from touching things?"

"Not always. I can usually get an idea or sensation if I concentrate on the object hard enough. But some objects can carry an actual image or images. And if the imprint is strong enough it will kind of just jump at me when I touch it."

"You can see what the person saw when they were holding an object?"

"No. Not exactly." She turned her body to face me. "You know how a person's memory isn't exact? Its not like a video recorder, they are bound to recall things slightly different from the actual event."

I nodded. This was true. You could have three different witnesses of the same crime, but if you question them separately they would tell you three entirely diverse sequence of events.

"Well it's kind of like that, but not a recorded image, more of a feeling. And it doesn't have to be going on while they are holding the item. You could be holding a toaster but be thinking of the first time you got laid and _that_ image would be impressed on the toaster."

Her analogy made me want to chuckle, but I didn't want to offend her. Again.

"Is that how you helped find The Heart Surgeon? You saw an impression on his toaster?"

I peeked over at her once more, she was studying me. Most likely trying to determine if I was pulling her leg. Which in all honesty, I kind of was.

"It was a pearl." She shifted again in her seat, turning to face the windshield.

"Did you say a pearl?"

"Mhm." Out of the corner of my eye I could see her brush a lock of her hair behind her ear. Her enthusiasm seemed to ebb with the mention of that murderer. "Doctor Cullen came to my shop with a pink pearl. He wanted it caged for his wife. Told me how he had taken her to Hawaii for their anniversary and how they had gone to this restaurant that guaranteed a 'real freshwater pearl' with every order of oysters."

"Sounds classy."

"Not really, the oysters come from oyster farms. The pearl wasn't the best quality, but he said his wife was smitten with it, so he wanted to do something nice by putting it in a pendant so she could wear it. He seemed so sweet. But then when I took the pearl from him..."

Alice crossed one arm over her chest, and began to bite the thumb nail of her other hand. I decided this might be a good time for a break.

At the next exit I took a detour to the closest coffee house.

There were three right off the highway. I'd make a crack about Starbucks and Seattle, but nowadays the drive-thru java joint is common no matter where you are.

Alice opted to stay in the car, which was good because I hadn't invited her to go in with me. She had to repeat her order three times before I was pretty sure I got it. _Something, something, soy, something, latte._

Inside the café I pulled off my sunglasses and let the college radio music and scent of freshly ground beans assault me. There was a line down to the pastry case. I moved to the end of it to wait my turn, making sure to keep on eye on the psychometric nutcase in my rental.

Did I really think she was nuts?

I wasn't a closed minded person, I had seen a lot in my day. I knew better than to disavow anything at face value. But this… this was certainly _out there._

There was a couple with a young son standing by the register. The boy had been stealing glances at me since I walked in. They paid for their drinks and moved out of the way. The line shuffled forward.

I felt the vibration in my pocket before it rang. I pulled my cell phone out. "Whitlock."

"Special Agent," Deputy Black greeted me. "Sorry to have to bother you during your package pick-up."

"No bother at all. What can I do for you?"

The next customer paid for their order. I moved up.

"It could probably wait until you got back, but figured I fill you in. Got a call from Mrs. Esme Cullen's residence."

That would be the good doctor's wife. From what I read on her, she had been very supportive during the investigation on her husband. Seems the poor woman was just as shocked by Cullen's pro bono work as the rest of the world.

"Shit." I hissed, and then grimaced when I notice the kid still looking at me. I hadn't counted Esme as a possible target. But if Black was called out to her home, I assumed the worst.

"Like I said Agent, its not a priority. She reported a break in to her home."

"Let me guess, Dr. Cullen kept _occupational_ items at home, like scalpels."

"You guessed right. Perps left the cash, the jewels, but took a case of scalpels. Those personalized kind with the monogram right on the handles."

"What about syringes? Any of those missing?"

"Can't say for sure yet. Intruder did a number on the home office. It's pretty messy."

We had a good sixty-five miles of road ahead of us. "I'll be there is twenty minutes."

I ended the call and marched right out the door. Alice poked her head out of the car's window as I hurried over. "Did you rob the place or something?"

"Huh?"

She pointed to my side, where my jacket had snagged on my leather holster, exposing my firearm. Now I understood why the kid was staring.

"Got to find you a babysitter." I told her as I got into the car and started it up.

"What? Why?"

"Our killer has just given us our first major lead."

* * *

_Thank you for the reviews. Much appreciated. Has anyone read THE SHINING GIRLS by Lauren Beukes yet?_


End file.
